This Girl: A Novel Read online

  She laughs. Damn, I love that laugh.

  “I didn’t realize there were right and wrong answers,” she says.

  “You suck at this. Your turn.”

  She smiles at me, then furrows her brows, facing forward and leaning back into her seat. “Okay, let me think.”

  “You have to have one ready!”

  “Jeez, Will! I barely heard of this game for the first time thirty seconds ago. Give me a second to think of one.”

  I reach over and squeeze her hand. “I’m teasing.”

  It wasn’t my intention to keep holding on to her hand, but for some reason it feels right, so I don’t let go. It’s so natural, like we didn’t even contemplate the move. I’m still staring at our interlocked fingers when she continues with her turn, unfazed. I like how much she seems to be enjoying the game. I like how she seemed to prefer the grilled cheese sandwiches to a restaurant. I like girls who don’t mind the simple things every now and then. I like that we’re holding hands.

  We play a few more rounds and the bizarre things she comes up with could give Caulder a run for his money. The half-hour drive to the club seems like it takes five minutes. I decide to ask one final question as we’re pulling into the parking lot. I pull into a space and reach over with my left hand to kill the engine so that I don’t have to move my right hand from hers. I glance over at her. “Last one,” I say. “Would you rather be back in Texas right now? Or here?”

  She looks down at our fingers that are interlocked and grazes her thumb across my hand. Her reaction to my question isn’t a negative one. In fact, it almost seems just the opposite when her lips crack a smile and she looks back up. Just when she opens her mouth to respond, her attention is pulled to the sign on the building behind me and her smile fades.

  “Uh, Will?” she says hesitantly. “I don’t dance.” She pulls her hand from mine and begins to open her door, so I do the same.

  “Uh, neither do I.”

  We both exit the vehicle, but the fact that she didn’t answer that last question isn’t lost on me. I grab her hand when we meet at the front of the car and I lead her inside. When we walk through the doors I make a quick scan of the room. I know a lot of the regulars here and I’m hoping I can at least find a secluded area in order for us to have some privacy. I spot an empty booth in the back of the room and lead her in that direction. I want her to be able to get the full experience without the constant interruption of conversation from other people.

  “It’s quieter back here,” I say. She’s looking around with curiosity in her eyes. She asks about the younger audience when she notices pretty quickly that this isn’t a regular club-going crowd. She’s observant.

  “Well, tonight it’s not a club,” I say. She scoots into the booth first and I slide in right next to her. “It’s slam night. Every Thursday they shut the club down and people come here to compete in the slam.”

  She breaks her gaze from the table of kids and looks at me, the curiosity still present in her eyes. “And what’s a slam?”

  I pause for a second and smile at her. “It’s poetry,” I say. “It’s what I’m all about.” I wait for the laughter, but it doesn’t come. She looks directly at me, almost like she didn’t understand what I said.

  I start to repeat myself when she interrupts. “Poetry, huh?” She continues to smile at me, but in a very endearing way. Almost like she’s impressed. “Do people write their own or do they get it from other authors?”

  I lean back in my seat and look at the stage. “People get up there and pour their hearts out just using their words and the movement of their bodies. It’s amazing. You aren’t going to hear any Dickinson or Frost here.”

  When I look at her again, she actually looks intrigued. Poetry has always been such a huge part of my life; I was worried she wouldn’t understand it. Not only does she understand it, she seems excited about it.

  I explain the rules to her regarding the competition. She asks a lot of questions, which puts me even more at ease. When I’ve explained everything to her, I decide to grab us drinks before the sac comes on stage.

  “You want something to drink?”

  “Sure,” she says. “I’ll take some chocolate milk.”

  I expect her to laugh at her joke, but she doesn’t.

  “Chocolate milk? Really?”

  “With ice,” she says, matter-of-fact.

  “Okay. One chocolate milk on the rocks coming right up.”

  I exit the booth and walk over to the bar to order our drinks, then turn around and lean against the bar and watch her. This feeling I get when I’m with her . . . I’ve missed it. I’ve missed that feeling of feeling. Somehow, she’s the first person in the last two years of my life who gives me any sense of hope about the future.

  I realize as I’m watching her that I’ve made a huge mistake. I’ve been comparing what her reaction to things might be based on what Vaughn’s reactions were in the past. It’s not fair to Lake to assume she would be turned off by the simplicity of the date or by the game we played on the drive here. It’s not fair to Lake that I assume she wouldn’t like poetry simply because Vaughn didn’t. It’s also unfair of me to assume she would push me away if she knew that I was Caulder’s guardian.

  This girl isn’t anything like Vaughn.

  This girl isn’t anything like any girl I’ve known. This girl is . . .

  “She’s cute.” Gavin’s voice jerks me out of my thoughts. I look over at him and he’s leaning against the bar next to me, watching me watch Lake. “What’s her name?” He turns around and orders two drinks from the waitress.

  “Layken,” I say. “And yeah. She is cute.”

  “How long have you guys been dating?” he asks, turning back to me.

  I look down at my watch. “Going on forty-five minutes.”

  He laughs. “Shit. The way you were looking at her I would have guessed a hell of a lot longer. Where’d you meet her?”

  The bartender hands me my change and the receipt for our drinks. I glance down at the receipt and laugh. It actually says, “Chocolate milk—rocks.” I fold the receipt and put it in my wallet.

  “Actually,” I say as I turn back to Gavin, “she’s my new neighbor. Just moved in three days ago.”

  He shakes his head and looks back in her direction. “You better hope it works out. That could get really awkward, you know.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I guess so. But I have a good feeling about her.”

  Before he walks away he points to the front of the room. “Eddie and I are over there. I’ll try to keep her occupied so you two can have your privacy. If she sees you here with a girl, she’ll be over there in a second trying to be her new best friend.”

  I laugh, because he’s right. “Thanks.” I grab our drinks and head back to the booth, relieved that I won’t have to deal with introductions tonight. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

  5.

  the honeymoon

  LAKE SITS UP on the bed and glares at me. “What the hell, Will? Gavin knew? He’s known this whole time?”

  I laugh. “Hey, you and Eddie weren’t the only ones keeping secrets.”

  She shakes her head in disbelief. “Does Eddie know he knew?”

  “I don’t think so. Unlike some people, Gavin can keep a secret.”

  She narrows her eyes and rolls back onto her pillow, dumbfounded. “I can’t believe he knew,” she says. “What did he say when I showed up in your poetry class?”

  “Well, I could go ahead and tell you all about that day, but that would mean I would be skipping over our first kiss. You don’t want to hear about the rest of our date?”

  She grins. “You know I do.”

  falling

  “WHAT’S THE SAC?” she says when I return with the drinks.

  “Sacrifice. It’s what they use to prepare the judges.” I slide back into the booth but make it a point to scoot in closer this time. “Someone performs something that isn’t part of the competition so the judges can calibra
te their scoring.”

  “So they can call on anyone? What if they had called on me?” she asks. She looks terrified at the thought.

  “Well, I guess you should have had something ready,” I tease.

  She laughs, then puts one of her elbows on the table, turning toward me. She runs her hand through her hair, sending a slight scent of vanilla in my direction. She watches me for a moment, her smile spreading up to her eyes. I love this peaceful look about her right now.

  We’re sitting so close together I can feel the heat of her body against mine, parts of us touching. Our thighs, her hip against mine, our hands just inches apart. Her gaze shifts from my eyes down to my lips and, for the first time tonight, I feel the first kiss pressure. There’s something about her lips that makes me want to kiss them when she’s in such close proximity. I remind myself that even though I’m just “Will” tonight, I’ve got at least one student who is more than likely intermittently spying on us.

  The quiet moment between us causes her to blush and she looks back to the stage, almost as if she could sense that I was struggling with the desire to kiss her. I reach over and take her hand in mine and bring it under the table, placing it on my leg. I look down at it as I slowly stroke her fingers. I stroke up her wrist and want so bad to keep trailing up her arm, straight to her lips . . . but I don’t. I circle back down to her fingertips, wishing more than anything that we weren’t in public right now. I don’t know what it is about her that completely enthralls me. I also don’t know what it is with her that gets me to spout things I would normally be more reserved about.

  “Lake?” I continue tracing up and over her hand with my fingertips. “I don’t know what it is about you . . . but I like you.” I interlock her fingers with mine and turn my attention toward the stage so she doesn’t think I expect a response from her. I smile when I see her grab for her glass and quickly down her chocolate milk. She definitely feels it, too.

  When the sac walks up to the stage, Lake’s whole demeanor changes. It’s almost as if she forgets I’m even here. She leans forward attentively when the woman begins her piece and she doesn’t remove her attention from the performer the entire time. I’m so drawn to the emotion in Lake’s expression that I can’t take my eyes off her. As I watch her, I attempt to decipher the reason behind the intense connection I feel with her. It’s not like we’ve spent that much time together. Hell, I hardly even know her. I still don’t even know what her major is, what her middle name is, much less her birthday. Deep down, I know none of it matters. The only thing that matters right now is this moment, and this moment is definitely my sweet for the day.

  As soon as the sac is finished with her poem, Lake pulls her hand from mine and wipes tears from her eyes. I put my arm around her and pull her to me. She accepts my embrace and rests her head against my shoulder.

  “Well?” I ask. I rest my chin on top of her head and stroke her hair, taking in another wave of vanilla. I’m beginning to love the smell of vanilla almost as much as southern accents.

  “That was unbelievable,” she whispers.

  Unbelievable. That was the exact word I used to describe it to my father the first time I saw it.

  I fight the urge to lift her chin and pull her lips to mine, knowing I should wait until we’re in private. The need is so overwhelming, though; my heart is at war with my conscience. I lean forward and press my lips against her forehead and close my eyes. It’ll have to do for now.

  We sit in the same embrace as several more poets perform. She laughs, she cries, she sighs, she aches, and she feels every single piece performed. By the time the final poet for round one comes onto the stage, it’s obvious that it’s too late. I was hoping to put everything out in the open between us before things became more serious. Little did I know it would happen this fast. I’m too far-gone. There’s no way I can stop myself from falling for this girl now.

  I keep my attention on the stage, but I can’t help but watch Lake out of the corner of my eye as she watches the performer prepare at the microphone. She’s holding her breath again as he steps up to the microphone.

  “This poem is called A Very Long Poem,” the performer says. Lake laughs and leans forward in her seat.

  This poem is very long

  So long, in fact, that your attention span

  May be stretched to its very limits

  But that’s okay

  It’s what’s so special about poetry

  See, poetry takes time

  We live in a time

  Call it our culture or society

  It doesn’t matter to me ’cause neither one rhymes

  A time where most people don’t want to listen

  Our throats wait like matchsticks waiting to catch fire

  Waiting until we can speak

  No patience to listen

  But this poem is long

  It’s so long, in fact, that during the time of this poem

  You could’ve done any number of other wonderful things

  You could’ve called your father

  Call your father

  You could be writing a postcard right now

  Write a postcard

  When was the last time you wrote a postcard?

  You could be outside

  You’re probably not too far away from a sunrise or a sunset

  Watch the sun rise

  Maybe you could’ve written your own poem

  A better poem

  You could have played a tune or sung a song

  You could have met your neighbor

  And memorized their name

  Memorize the name of your neighbor

  You could’ve drawn a picture(or, at least, colored one in)

  You could’ve started a book

  Or finished a prayer

  You could’ve talked to God

  Pray

  When was the last time you prayed?

  Really prayed

  This is a long poem

  So long, in fact, that you’ve already spent a minute with it

  When was the last time you hugged a friend for a minute?

  Or told them that you love them?

  Tell your friends you love them

  . . . no, I mean it,

  tell them

  Say, I love you

  Say, you make life worth living

  Because that is what friends do

  Of all of the wonderful things that you could’ve done

  During this very, very long poem

  You could have connected

  Maybe you are connecting

  Maybe we’re connecting

  See, I believe that the only things that really matter

  In the grand scheme of life are

  God and people

  And if people are made in the image of God

  Then when you spend your time with people

  It’s never wasted

  And in this very long poem

  I’m trying to let a poem do what a poem does:

  Make things simpler

  We don’t need poems to make things more complicated

  We have each other for that

  We need poems to remind ourselves of the things that really matter

  To take time

  A long time

  To be alive for the sake of someone else for a single moment

  Or for many moments

  ’Cause we need each other

  To hold the hands of a broken person

  All you have to do is meet a person

  Shake their hand

  Look in their eyes

  They are you

  We are all broken together

  But these shattered pieces of our existence don’t have to be a mess

  We just have to care enough to hold our tongues sometimes

  To sit and listen to a very long poem

  A story of a life

  The joy of a friend and the grief of a friend

  To hold and be held

  And be quiet
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  So, pray

  Write a postcard

  Call your parents and forgive them and then thank them

  Turn off the TV

  Create art as best as you can

  Share as much as possible, especially money

  Tell someone about a very long poem you once heard

  And how afterward it brought you to them

  SHE WIPES ANOTHER tear from her eye when the performer steps away from the microphone. She begins clapping with the rest of the crowd, completely engrossed in the atmosphere. When she finally relaxes against me again, I take her hand in mine. We’ve been here close to two hours now and I’m sure she’s tired, based on the week she’s had. Besides, I never stay for all of the performances, since I have work on Fridays.

  I begin to stand up to lead her out of the booth when the emcee makes one last appeal for performers. She turns to me and I can see her thoughts written clearly across her face.

  “Will, you can’t bring me here and not perform. Please do one? Please, please, please?”

  I had no intention of doing a poem tonight. At all. But oh, my God—that look in her eyes. She’s really going to make me do this, I can already tell. There’s no way I can say no to those eyes. I lean my head against the back of the booth and laugh. “You’re killing me, Lake. Like I said, I don’t really have anything new.”

  “Do something old then,” she suggests. “Or do all these people make you nervous?”

  She has no idea how often I perform and how natural it feels to me now. It’s almost as natural as breathing. I haven’t been nervous about taking the stage since the first time I took it five years ago.

  Until now, anyway.

  I lean in closer and look her directly in the eyes. “Not all of them. Just one of them.”

  Our faces are so incredibly close right now; it would be so easy to do it. Just a couple more inches and I could taste her. Her smile fades and she bites her bottom lip as her gaze slowly drops to my mouth again. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she wants me to kiss her just as much. The unfamiliar nerves that have occupied my stomach have now multiplied and I’m quickly losing my self-control. As soon as I start to lean in, she clasps her hands under her chin and resumes her plea.